In hidden spaces where organs lie, A quiet realm untouched by eye, Beneath the surface, silent and still, A tale of struggle, a hidden ill.
A vesicovaginal fistula, unseen, Forms an unwanted path between Bladder and the secret domain, Where life’s essence flows, not in vain.
Born of trials in childbirth's storm, Or surgery's touch, not to conform, To healing's grace, as complications bloom, Leaving scars that whisper in the gloom.
Radiant beams, a double-edged sword, In fighting cancers, a path untoward, Leaves behind a fragile bridge of pain, Where once was health, now stains remain.
Symptoms speak in whispers soft, Of continuous leaks, a torrent aloft, Urinary flow unchecked, unkind, A constant dampness left behind.
Infections thrive in this foreign land, Where streams collide, by fate’s harsh hand, Foul odors linger, a haunting song, Of what is lost, what once belonged.
Skin, tender veil, now prone to fray, Under the constant, cruel spray, Of urine’s touch, relentless cascade, Marks the toll this union has made.
But hope endures, in surgical light, To mend the breach, restore the right, To close the passage, with skill and care, Bring back the balance, repair and repair.
Before the dance of the surgeon's hand, A prelude unfolds, a careful stand, Imaging seeks the rift's expanse, To plan the path, the surgical dance.
Post-surgery whispers of tender care, Catheters guide the healing rare, A bridge to health, a journey told, In steps, in hopes, in stories old.
For VVF’s impact, far beyond mere pain, Touches the soul with lasting stain, Yet through diagnosis, through timely art, Restores the essence, reclaims the heart.
